Disgaea: History of Darkness
by ShadowDancer09
Summary: Long before Laharl's birth, the great Supreme Overlord Krichevskoy ruled over the Netherworld. But before he could become that great ruler, he was just a boy with something to prove.
1. The Eccentric Prince

**A/N:** Hello! I hope you don't mind this random little foray into trying to create a backstory for a certain princess curled Overlord. It was just something I wanted to do for the hell of it, and I hope you'll enjoy! I'm not sure how long this will go for, but let's both enjoy the ride. XD

Anyway, to get the disclaimers out of the way, I own neither Disgaea nor the characters, nor anything I might reference or parody in here. At most I own an OC or two and even they're heavily based off of stuff in Disgaea. On with the show!

Also, many apologies for formatting issues. I tried to make it as readable as possible, but I had some serious issues with the document editor. Let me know if it's too much of a hassle to read and I'll either try again or try to fix things up in future chapters!

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><p><strong>Disgaea: History of Darkness<strong>

**Chapter 1: The Eccentric Prince**

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><p><em>Far beyond this world exists a world of chaos and darkness. In this world populated by demons, the Netherworld, only the law of survival reigns supreme.<em>

_Separated from the Netherworld for as long as either world can remember, there also exists a world of light and harmony. In this world of angels, Celestia, it is law and order that reigns._

_One day, long, long ago, two curious individuals from these realms crossed paths. The journey they would undertake would be forgotten by all, but its legacy would reshape the two worlds for ages to come…_

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><p>While the Netherworld could never said to be completely quiet—what with the constant scuffles, arguments, parties, and other such noisy activities—the Overlord's Castle had at least started out comparatively so. But within the dim firelit halls, stirrings of gossip centered around an argument set the air humming, and curious eyes glanced every once in awhile in the direction of the throne room.<p>

Suddenly a loud scream could be heard in every hall of the castle, turning any heads not already pointed that direction toward the throne. Almost immediately, the more seasoned vassals dove behind any large, sturdy object they could find and clung to it for dear life. The poor souls who either didn't know what to expect next or weren't fast enough to get their hands on anything found themselves at mercy to the great gust of wind that tore through the hall, knocking over any items that weren't nailed down (and some that were), sending various objects of varying sharpness flying through the air, and launching several prinnies off to an explosive fate. Amongst the chaos, if one were to listen closely past the sound of rushing wind, they might be able to hear a young voice shout "**THAT IS NOT FAIR!"**

The end of the young prince's protest also marked the end of the gale, and the vassals who had been lucky enough to remain inside the castle took a moment to regain their bearings before setting about to cleaning up. Every one of them seemed to let out a long-suffering sigh all at the same time. They had become used to his outbursts by now—he was at a rather rebellious age, after all—but they wished the prince would keep a closer eye on his power. His youth and… _eccentricities_ were no excuse, and frankly they weren't paid enough to deal with this.

Krichevskoy, crown prince of the Netherworld, sat on his bed in a huff, his eyes, burning with righteous indignation, boring holes in the wall. Royalty or not, his parents had no right to decide what he could and could not read. His preferences in literature, though they were far from what most demons would consider "healthy" or "normal," were quite frankly none of their business. And why should he have to change simply because someone else said so? He was the crown prince, the heir to the throne. He had every right to read what he pleased.

"Prince," a voice from the corner of the room cautiously spoke up. "Aren't you… overreacting a little?"

"Absolutely not!" came the immediate reply. Krichevskoy hopped back to his feet and faced the spear in the corner, stubborn scowl set firmly in place. "They took every last one, Longinus! Tore them from me without even a second to listen to what I had to say! Do you have any idea how difficult some of them were to acquire? There were a few straight from the human worlds!"

One might find the idea of holding a conversation with a spear ridiculous (and few would deny the image to be a little strange), but Longinus was no ordinary spear. Imbued with ancient magic of an origin no one could remember, Longinus was wise and old and often the one who, as Krichevskoy's weapon-of-choice, was usually the one tasked with talking the prince out of many of his more… fanciful ideas. The entire castle owed a debt to Longinus for talking him out of redecorating the castle to incorporate a rose motif.

"Exactly how much of your allowance were you spending on these books, my lord?"

If Krichevskoy heard Longinus's question at all, he made no move to acknowledge it. "Do I not have a say in what is to be done with _my_ property? This is an injustice! An absolute injustice!"

Longinus once again attempted to talk sense into his charge. "Prince," he began, a little louder this time to attract Krichevskoy's attention, "you cannot expect there to have been no outcry whatsoever once they discovered what it was you were reading."

"It, It does not matter whether there would have been outcry or not! There should not have been!" Krichevskoy tried to argue, stumbling over his words a little. "There is nothing wrong with enjoying—"

"You are a demon! And the next in line for the throne, at that! For the crown prince of the Netherworld to be reading something as vile as _romance novels_ is nothing short of reprehensible!"

Krichevskoy tried to hide a wince and for a few seconds his mouth opened and closed as he tried to come up with a retort. Unfortunately, there was little arguing with that. He was a demon. Demons did not love or hold close friends or immerse themselves in worlds of romance. They fought, brought bloodshed, lied, cheated, paid evil unto good and evil alike and if they read, they read stories about those sorts of vile things. And yet… And yet it was all so uncouth! While Krichevskoy received the same jolt of energy out of a good battle as anyone else, there was a certain poetry to it all—a performance! A flair!—that most demon literature simply could not portray. And beyond that, the way the characters in his books interacted: what they said, what they did, how they went about _life_… It was difficult to put into words! But there was something that spoke to him, something that called like a beacon in the darkness right to the very depths of his heart!

A part of him even wanted to become that gentleman. The one in the stories who attracted the gaze of every woman in the room, the sort of man who could say the right thing to win over whomever he wished. What _charisma_ they had!

But now there would be no more gentlemen. There would be no more tales of intrigue and desire. No more days spent hidden away, drinking in every detail and every word…

Krichevskoy balled his hands into shaky fists. "Why?" he finally blurted out. "Why is it reprehensible?" He pointed a finger at Longinus with a flourish. "Do not tell me it is only because I am a demon. That is an excuse! What does it matter? I am the crown prince. I have authority as well, do I not? I am capable of making my own decisions, am I not? What do my tastes have to do with how I will rule? Why is it such a crime?"

Longinus readied himself to interrupt, but the prince fell silent before he could say a word. He thought he should say something, but there were no words to be said when Krichevskoy was in such a state. Really, that boy could be quite stubborn.

All of a sudden, Krichevskoy straightened, a certain spark in his eyes. His indignation had been shoved to the side for now and his scowl had transformed into a faint, mischievous smirk. "Longinus."

"…Yes, my lord?" Something about the way Krichevskoy had said that worried him.

"I have decided to take a trip outside the castle."

Longinus gave as much of a start as something lacking a proper body could, and wobbled. "My lord, you know you are-!"

"Forbidden from leaving without supervision? I am aware of that." Amusement bled into every word Krichevskoy spoke. "But I am entitled to repay an injustice with disobedience, am I not? If I cannot _read_ what I want, then I shall do something _else_ that I want."

"Even for a demon, I don't think that qualifies as entitlement…"

But Krichevskoy wasn't listening. He was already tearing through his closet and dresser, searching for something only he knew. As the seconds ticked past, both his determination and frustration grew. Eventually his gaze turned to his bed and the demon stood stock still, the corners of his mouth turning downward into a grimace. A terrible decision needed to be made. It would be painful, but if he was to make his grand escape, it would be necessary. Krichevskoy bit his lip and pulled back the luxurious comforter, exposing the black silk sheets beneath.

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><p>A black, tattered cloak fluttered behind a small figure as he weaved through the streets of the town behind the castle. Beneath the hood, sharp, white teeth gleamed in the light shining from the Earth above, and the cloaked boy's head whipped from side to side, taking in as many of the sights as he could.<p>

"Prince," Longinus whispered, cautiously opening an eye to look around. Krichevskoy had insisted on taking Longinus with him out into town. He had no idea what to expect, and it was always better to be armed for the best advantage against one's enemies. Longinus still objected to Krichevskoy's excursion even now, but he was at least willing to accompany the Prince. All the better to keep an eye on him. "May I ask again why you felt the need to wear your bed sheets into the streets like this?"

Indeed the cloak Krichevskoy wore around his shoulders had been hastily constructed from the very sheets on his bed, the ends ripped and torn by hand and scissors in a way as aesthetically pleasing as possible by amateur hands. "That is simply the way it is done," the prince responded. "Stealing away in a hooded cloak by dead of night… There is no other way."

Longinus could think of several ways. "Stealing away" from the castle had been fairly simple. Many of the vassals were still too busy cleaning up after the outburst from earlier that day and plenty more just didn't seem to care. Sometimes one had to wonder if they would even make an attempt to stop an assassin from simply waltzing in the doors, even if the individual were to be completely frank about his or her intentions.

"And just what is it that you plan to accomplish?"

"I want to see the town," came Krichevskoy's reply, sounding a little distant. "I wish to know what it was that they wanted to hide from me so much." He never had understood why his parents wouldn't let him outside the castle walls without an escort. It was strange. He understood why they would do it when he was younger, but it seemed almost as though there was _more_ of an entourage now as there was then. And yet Krichevskoy hadn't _heard_ anything about discontent among the masses. Surely something would have come up between the vassals in the castle if that were the case.

But whatever the cause may have been, it didn't matter now, and there was no reason to give such a dark train of thought any attention. He was out on his own, seeing the world in truth for the first time! No one to tell him where he should go, no one to tell him who he should and shouldn't talk to, it was Krichevskoy's chance to truly shine! Or, it was as long as he kept his identity secret. He wasn't quite used to dealing with the common folk, and it wouldn't do to sully his name and the name of his family on his first night out amongst the masses. He had a reputation to keep and prove.

Perhaps he should have come up with some sort of pseudonym before he had left the castle.

He tried to make up for lost time by thinking as he walked, but it didn't take long for something to catch Krichevskoy's attention and interrupt his train of thought. Among the various sights the castle town had to offer, there was a fair-size crowd animatedly chattering away and occasionally booing or tossing trash at a few brightly-colored figures on a stage. His curiosity overtaking him, the crown prince pushed his way into the crowd to get a better look.

"Halt, evildoer!" the red armored man on stage cried out. "We'll put an end to your horrible crimes!"

A blue one spoke up next, striking a pose. "If you thought you could get away with what you've done, maybe the power of justice will change your mind!"

Krichevskoy made a face. "'Power of Justice?'" he echoed. That sort of sounded like something he'd read before, but… strangely stilted and not quite as impressive as he had imagined. And yet as disappointing as it was, he couldn't look away.

The green one was next. "Our seven lights spring to the task… to save the world with courage and hope!"

"Together…"

"We are…"

"The Seven-Colored Warriors… the Prism Knights!" There was a bang, and a three-colored explosion—red, blue, and green—went off behind them.

Krichevskoy stared at them in awe. Despite the less-than-stellar start, these Prism Knights had completely captured his heart. Except… "Hold on, how can they be the 'Prism Knights' if there are only three of them?" he wondered aloud.

A scoff came from next to him. "Sickening, isn't it? What kind of audience do these people think they have? This will never catch on."

"Well, actually I appreciate the idea. It is merely the execution I have problems with," Krichevskoy explained, turning to face the speaker. It looked to be a boy about his age, perhaps a mage of some sort.

"Are you serious? A play about 'courage and hope?' The demons that took part in this farce should all be strung up." The boy narrowed his yellow eyes, his eyes still on the stage.

The corners of Krichevskoy's mouth drew into a thin, stubborn line. "Why?" he shot back. "What is so wrong about it? It is all in good fun, is it not? And it is entertaining! Not all media has to be dark and foreboding. What is so wrong about occasionally having a show where the protagonists advocate the ideas of justice?"

The other boy finally turned to face Krichevskoy, looking at the prince as though he had gone insane. "What's _wrong_ with it? Do you even realize what you're saying? What sort of demon are you?" He looked as though he was about to say more, but instead he paused, looking Krichevskoy over with a scrutinizing eye. "Wait a moment. You're…"

"I am just passing through!" Krichevskoy was quick to interject, pulling the hood of his cloak further down over his face. "A traveler. Nothing more!

There was another short silence. "…I see. Then the next time you pass through, I would keep your… _ideas_ to yourself. Just a little friendly advice."

Krichevskoy nodded. It sounded as though the boy had bought it, but he had pulled his hood so far over his face he couldn't see. Just to check, he pulled it up the tiniest bit and peered out, only to find that the boy had disappeared into the crowd. "That was odd," he murmured.

"But he is right, Prince," Longinus whispered, peering from behind. "Regardless of what you think, those views are dangerous. It would be better to keep quiet about them for now. You were lucky you weren't recognized."

Krichevskoy didn't answer, instead turning his attention back to the stage, where the three Prism Knights had just begun a poorly choreographed fight against a zombie with a monocle and fake mustache. He didn't understand. He knew people didn't like what he liked, but he just didn't understand.

What was so dangerous about being the way he was?


	2. Dress Up is No Place

**A/N:** Chapter 2! This one's a bit shorter than I would have liked, but for pacing's sake it made sense to leave it as its own chapter. On the bright side, due to this decision I now have half of Chapter 3 done!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Dress Up is No Place For a Mighty Overlord<br>**

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><p>Krichevskoy glared at his reflection, pointedly ignoring the vassal attending to his fitting. "I look ridiculous," he grumbled, and winced as a belt was pulled just a little too tightly around his arm.<p>

"Nonsense," his mother assured him. "You look positively wicked~"

Krichevskoy was hardly convinced. He continued to stare at the tight-fitting monstrosity of belts, chains, and spikes with disdain. The only thing he even remotely liked was the cape, and even then the black-spiked eyesores they dared to call shoulder pads completely ruined it.

"Oh stop _pouting,_ Krichevskoy. You will never get anywhere acting like that. And in any case it's about time you started acting like the dignified dark prince you are supposed to be. _This_ is an ensemble that will strike fear into the hearts of friend and foe alike! You should wear it with pride!"

"There is nothing about this that is dignified," he shot back. "They will not shrink back in fear, they will simply laugh at me! I look as though I am compensating for something!"

"_Krichevskoy!"_

"I can hardly even bend my legs! Why would anyone need this many belts on their pants? There is no part of this that is functional!"

"It does not need to be functional. And belts are always in fashion."

"Be that as it may, this is still far too many. It is not fashionable at all. Can I not just wear what I always do? Or, or I found something else that looks quite elegant and refined!"

Almost immediately, Krichevskoy's mother turned a bright shade of red. "You will dress like an evil Overlord and you will _like_ it, young man!" she shouted. The attendee turned to stare at the queen, and Krichevskoy's mouth set itself into a stubborn scowl. The queen put a hand to her forehead and sighed, a hint of desperation edging its way into her voice. _"Please,_ Krichevskoy. Listen to your mother and act like a proper demon just this once. At least wear it in the throne room when your father and I meet with people today. I ask this as a favor for your father and I—a favor we will pay you back for!"

His mother's tone made him wince internally. To have made his mother have to plead with him… Did she want him to wear it that badly? "Yes, mother," he mumbled, and didn't look her in the eye. Even if it was a travesty against fashion, it wouldn't hurt to wear it for a few hours, would it? And she had said she would pay him back. Maybe he could use the return favor to get his books back! A few hours for months of enjoyment seemed a perfectly fair trade.

The queen let out a soft sigh of relief and smiled at him fondly. "You really are the better one."

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><p>It was not a fair trade. It was by <em>no means whatsoever<em> a fair trade.

Krichevskoy stomped stiff-legged into his room and desperately squirmed about in an attempt to pull the shoulder pads and cape off. One book. That was all he had received after an hour of being laughed at for the awful outfit, and that was only because his father had taken pity on him (and thought the thing was as awful as Krichevskoy knew it to be). And _then_ there was that succubus who pinched his cheek and patronizingly went on about how "cute" he looked "trying to dress up like a big, bad Overlord."

The memory brought an even greater desperation to get the wretched thing off of him, and he tore at the belts and chains in a frenzy, tossing each piece here and there about the room for the prinnies to clean up.

"Someday I shall defeat them for this," he mumbled, sending another belt flying across the room, narrowly missing the mirror. "For my books… And my _dignity!"_ Another two hit the door with a heavy "thunk." He stopped and posed with considerable determination in front of the mirror. "This is absolutely unforgivable! If they think I will take this lying down, they are sorely mistaken!"

Of course, all this was easier said than done. Krichevskoy may have been powerful, but his parents could easily best him in a fight, and he was loathe to call upon Vesuvio for aid. If he was going to defeat his parents, he would do so himself, as any proud demon would. Not to mention he was certain his brother would turn on him and try to take the throne for himself as soon as all was said and done and that, frankly, was a hassle Krichevskoy didn't think he'd ever be ready to deal with.

He cast a glance at the window. Perhaps another instance of rebellion? It seemed like the best choice for the moment, but it lacked that little something extra. Sneaking out was a fine retribution but it was also so plain. He looked around the room for a burst of inspiration and finally his eyes fell upon the book he had retrieved. A small chuckle escaped him as a new idea began to form in his head. Yes, that would be absolutely perfect. His parents constantly worried about what sort of demon he would be later on in life, so why not bring their worries to life for awhile? It was a bit passive-aggressive to be sure, but it would certainly afford him a victory.

And so with a scheme in his head and a smile on his face, Krichevskoy set about to ridding himself of the rest of that awful outfit. After all, it would not do for a thief to wear such restricting clothes.


	3. Plan Phantom Gentleman Thief

**A/N:** And third chapter because I basically just split the last chapter in two for pacing purposes. XD This is going to be a very rare instance.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Plan Phantom Gentleman Thief<strong>

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><p>All that could be heard in the night was a faint rustle of fabric and soft thud after soft thud as Krichevskoy hopped from rooftop to rooftop. Once again the prince had donned his handmade cloak, as much to give himself the proper look as it was to hide his identity. As much as there was a certain look to be had when stealing away from home, there was an equally proper look when one decided to become a thief in the night. They may have looked a little similar, but all of this had been on short notice and Krichevskoy hadn't had time to make a nice mask. However, the flair that came with rooftop travel seemed to make up for that just fine.<p>

He had a vague idea where the richer part of town was, and the gaudy displays of wealth that became more and more frequent as he neared the mansions helped guide his way. All he needed to do was find the richest person in the area and relieve them of a few of their valuables. It didn't need to be much. All he needed were a few items easily pawnable for a good price and he could continue to the second part of plan Phantom Gentleman Thief: giving those items to the neediest demon he could find out of the kindness of his heart.

But while he was at it, why not have a little more fun with it? He could be a thief of hearts as well, and attempt to win over any of the beautiful lady nobles he found during his mission. He knew from his careful study of the male protagonists in his novels how to accomplish that, and this was the perfect venue for practice. He even had his daring, dynamic entrance planned in advance.

Visions of success and adoration swimming in the teen's head, Krichevskoy slipped inside of the mansion that was his destination. As it was the largest building in the area, save for the Overlord's Castle itself, surely the mansion's occupant must have had considerable money to his name. Krichevskoy grinned to himself, dashing from shadow to shadow and looking over every last vase and portrait for the most expensive thing he could find.

Unfortunately most of them looked to be fakes on closer inspection. "They must be keeping the real ones further in." Or so he hoped that was the case. If the owner could only show pretty fakes for all his wealth, he was truly a sad individual indeed.

With a few leaps, Krichevskoy made his way to the upper floors and slipped into the inner chamber. _There!_ Nearly everything in the room was made of gold or silver, and the moonlight that filtered in through the windows gleamed off of the jewels encrusted into the furniture and tableware, casting a kaleidoscope of colors onto the walls. It truly was a beautiful sight, though Krichevskoy was of the opinion that such a collection would be better served being shown throughout the castle rather than crammed into one little room. It just seemed a little… gaudy.

Nevertheless, he set his sights on the goblets resting on the table and a few rings set off to the side on one of the dressers. As nice as it would be to take something larger and grander (for the individual that would be on the receiving end of such a kind gift would certainly be overjoyed by its very sight), portability was key, and they looked to be the most expensive small items in the room.

The prince stood tall, puffed out his chest, and let out a long, loud laugh. "You who own this mansion, prepare yourself! Swift as the wind… Mysterious as the clouded moon…! I, the Phantom Thief of Hearts have come for that which you treasure!"

The demon that had been reclining on the ottoman quickly snapped to his feet. "Wh, What? Who-? Guards! Get in here, you lazy pieces of trash!"

Krichevskoy smirked. "All of the guards in the Netherworld could not spare you from your fate! En garde!" He flipped forward off of the banister to the floor below. Everything was going better than he could have imagined. His introductory speech had not only been perfectly delivered, but it had been perfectly _received. _Now… All he needed to do was—

Krichevskoy jerked to a sudden stop, legs kicking at the empty air as his hands immediately went to his neck. His cloak had managed to get caught on the sword of a large Valkyrie statue on the way down, and he was mere inches away from the floor. As he struggled to get free, the guards finally filed into the room and stared blankly at what could only be called a perfect failure.

"Is that… a kid?"

"You called us in here to take out a kid?"

Flushing with rage, the owner pointed at the prince. "I don't care what he is, just kill him already!"

As one, the guards returned the order with a nervous, vigorous nod. A Warrior was first to charge, his axe raised to cleave the boy in two. Even through the black spots beginning to invade his vision, Krichevskoy managed to see the blurry form headed his way and directed his struggle into a firm kick that sent the guard flying across the room.

The remaining guard, a Brawler, glanced back at his partner—who had made a Warrior-shaped dent in the wall—and hesitated a moment before running in himself. It was a stronger kick than he had expected a child to have, but it probably no more than a fluke.

Krichevskoy twisted his body around and tried to kick again, but the Brawler deftly dodged and landed a punch to Krichevskoy's side. The force was enough to rip the fabric of the cloak, releasing the statue's hold on Krichevskoy as well as sending him crashing into a mound of gold.

He gasped a few breaths of air, black receding from his vision as the guards and master started to come back into focus. Krichevskoy shoved himself to his feet unsteadily, tugging his hood further over his face.

The owner laughed and fixed Krichevskoy with a sneer. "You must be regretting coming here, boy. I took every single one of these myself… from the cold, dead hands of my enemies."

"Ah. I thought you spoke crassly for a noble. This is a trophy room, is it not?"

"You got that right. Hate to share the wealth with others, but these two more than make up for the cost. It means I don't have to deal with little rats like you."

The corner of Krichevskoy's mouth turned downward. "Rat? The only _rat_ I see before me is you."

As the owner and Krichevskoy talked, the Warrior had managed to free himself from the wall. He leapt into the air and struck the ground as he landed, sending a great wave of energy erupting from the ground. It was all Krichevskoy could do to dodge at the last second. The Warrior moved to follow up on the attack, but the sudden angry shouts of the owner, cursing his guard out for nearly hitting the treasures in the room.

Krichevskoy took his chance, jumping forward. His fist slammed into ground next to the Warrior, freezing the area around Krichevskoy and sending spikes of ice sprouting upwards. The Warrior was frozen in place, his axe still raised from an attempt to strike Krichevskoy down during his attack. Krichevskoy stood up just in time for a kick to go whizzing past in a blur. The Brawler had closed the distance between the two of them. He followed up with another kick and a punch, Krichevskoy throwing his arms up in front of him to block the final blow. He slid back a few inches from the force, but before he could even retaliate he felt a sharp pain in his side.

The mansion's owner had joined in the fight, his sword stained red. "You're a lot more trouble than you're worth." His eyes narrowed and Krichevskoy took a step back, glancing between the master and his guard. Being a thief… was much more complicated than he thought.

Krichevskoy hopped backwards to avoid a punch from the Brawler and sidestepped the master's Blade Rush. As the Brawler ran toward him again, Krichevskoy grabbed his arm and flung him at his master. The two were sent flying backwards in a tangled mass of limbs, the mansion's owner trying to shove his guard off of him.

Immediately, Krichevskoy took his chance. He dashed toward the dresser where the rings were, snatching up the goblets as he went and shoving them under his cloak. Once he got what he had came for, he jumped back up to the banister he had entered on and made a break for the exit. He ran until he got into the business district and slipped into an alley, pressing himself flat against the side of the building. He held his breath as footsteps charged past, only letting it go in a relieved sigh once it seemed as though they had missed him.

Krichevskoy reached down to his side, wincing as he touched the cut in an attempt to get a better look. He'd received many like it before in the past, but… never at the hand of someone trying to kill him. It was strange, exhilarating, and a little scary all at once. The mark of a truly great demon was to have someone try to kill you, some demons said.

After a last glance cast out of the alleyway to check for his pursuers, Krichevskoy pulled out one of the rings he managed to steal from the mansion. The red ruby sparkled in the Earth's light as Krichevskoy turned it around in his hands. He stood there awhile in silence as he stared at the ring, mulling something over.

"Well," he finally said. "I suppose it could not hurt to take one of these as pay for my services…" It was a very beautiful ring. Surely the recipient of his other gifts would not miss it.

He put it away and started toward the poorer part of town.


End file.
